


Artistic Differences

by acchikocchi



Category: Football RPF, Real Madrid RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-26
Updated: 2011-12-26
Packaged: 2017-10-28 04:19:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 915
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/303658
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/acchikocchi/pseuds/acchikocchi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>A silly and last-minute Merry Christmas very loosely inspired by the Real Madrid Christmas video. Hope you enjoy. :)</p>
    </blockquote>





	Artistic Differences

**Author's Note:**

  * For [yeats](https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeats/gifts).



> A silly and last-minute Merry Christmas very loosely inspired by the Real Madrid Christmas video. Hope you enjoy. :)

"Hey, superstar!"

Ricardo turned, already feeling his mouth stretching in a wide smile: a real smile, not a press smile. Cristiano was wearing the thousand-watt beam that always made Ricardo feel a pleasant warm glow inside and --

Ricardo stopped short.

Cristiano was already talking a mile a minute as, still beaming, he greeted Ricardo with a hug. (Pepe always insisted they were something he called "bro slaps", but Ricardo didn't see how those were any different from normal hugs.) They took their seats and Ricardo made himself pay attention to what Cristiano was saying -- something about Manzano getting fired -- but though he tried not to look his eyes kept creeping back of their own accord, out of almost morbid fascination.

It was too much for Cristiano not to notice. First he looked curious, then, glancing up at the ceiling, slightly concerned, then finally he looked around and frowned and said, "Is something wrong?"

Before Ricardo could stop himself, he blurted, "What did you do to your hair?"

Cristiano stared at him.

He felt the flush creeping from his neck upwards. "I. Ah." He cleared his throat. "It looks very nice."

Cristiano kept looking at him, with an expression equal parts confused and faintly wounded. "You don't like it?"

"It's very..." His gaze lingered, taking it all in again, just in case he'd missed something while he was trying not to stare. He hadn't. "Individual."

"It should be," Cristiano said, "it cost almost as much as my car."

" _What?_ " Ricardo heard his own voice, which had shot into the upper registers, and tried to cover it with a cough. "I mean. What? That's not -- "

"It was a joke!" Cristiano said. "Mostly."

"Oh," Ricardo said. "Yes. Right." He attempted to repair the damage and talked too quickly as a result. "I'm sorry, I didn't realize. That is -- it's very -- very, um, stylish, and I'm sure you got your money's worth, and -- "

"It's okay," Cristiano said, mouth set. "Let's talk about something else, okay?"

They did, but the guilt didn't go away with the subject.

* * *

Ricardo stopped short in the the entrance to the dressing room.

"Oh my -- goodness," he said.

Alvaro, whose locker was next to the door, snickered. "I know," he said, in a voice of completely false understanding. "I know."

"What... what did he... what _happened?_ "

"Someone finally gave him an honest opinion on his new hair and he went off the deep end trying to fix it." Alvaro gave a deep, satisfied sigh. "I should give her a medal. This is priceless."

 _Be nice_ , Ricardo should have said, but instead he frowned. "What do you mean, 'she'."

Alvaro gave him a pitying look. _Oh, naive little Ricky._ "It's his _hair_. Obviously it's a chick. You think anyone else's opinion about his precious hair would even penetrate?"

Ricardo had no idea what to say. Dimly, he was aware of the flush creeping back, up from the collar of his shirt. Thankfully Alvaro -- simultaneously texting, changing, and talking to Raúl Albiol -- didn't notice.

Cristiano didn't look up until Ricardo joined him at the adjacent locker. "Hey," he said, faux casually, and then busied himself inspecting his boots.

"Good morning," Ricardo said. He began to assemble his kit, attempting with all his might not to glance sideways.

Silence.

"I, um, you got a new hairstyle," Ricardo said, when he couldn't take it any longer. "Already."

Cristiano shrugged. "Got bored. You know. International style icon, gotta keep up my game."

"Of course," Ricardo agreed, fairly sure he had no idea what Cristiano was saying.

"So," Cristiano said. He cleared his throat. "I mean, like. What do you think?"

"What do I...?" He should have been ready for this. Ricardo looked again, at the hair, and at Cristiano's expectant face, and at the hair -- The Hair -- again. Surely the Lord wouldn't hold another white lie against him. Another glance at Cristiano's expression made the words stick in his throat. Finally Ricardo gave a small self-depracating laugh and said, "I don't think I'm really a very good judge of style."

He could _see_ Cristiano's face falling. Suddenly he was reaching for something to say, whatever it was that instinct told him would fix things, the same reaction this sight always touched off in him.

"I mean," Ricardo said, and cleared his throat. He raised a hand and touched his own hair, with a slight self-consciousness that was not entirely feigned. "Do you think I should? Do something about mine?"

Cristiano's downcast face was wiped clean of everything except disbelief as he stared at Ricardo. "Are you for real?"

"I... am I?" Ricardo tried. "Maybe?"

"Didn't Armani assign you a stylist? And Adidas?"

Ricardo thought for a moment. "I think so?" Cristiano's face dimmed slightly so Ricardo said, "Maybe -- maybe you could think about it and tell me what you think. Okay?" He looked Cristiano in the eye and said earnestly, "I trust your opinion."

The thousand-watt grin returned like a flash of lightning. "Deal," Cristiano said, and held out his right hand, expectant.

They'd practiced this. Ricardo concentrated. Clasp, shake, twist, release, fist bump over -- or no, under -- or no --

Ricardo began to laugh, helplessly. Cristiano made a _tsk_ ing sound and shook his head in mock disappointment. "I'm sorry," Ricardo said. "I think I might be hopeless."

Cristiano reached up and slid a hand through Ricardo's hair, a little too slow to be called a ruffle.

"It's okay," he said, and let go. "I like you how you are."


End file.
